The Albayn Heirs
by kitalyn erof
Summary: A/U- Kludd and Soren Alba can trace their noble lineage back to the time of Glaux. Kludd, as the eldest son, is set to inherit the Albayn Palace. Tragedy strikes, rending the family apart- Kludd becomes a knight of King Bylyric, ruler of the corrupt Guardians, while Soren's whisked to the mysterious St. Aegolius'. Who will they be when they meet again? Will they change their fates?
1. Prologue: Thoughts of the Newly Crowned

**A/N**: This story takes place in an alternate universe: one where the Guardians' way is threatened by an insane king and there's a Resistance rising up to reclaim the Great Tree; one where the Pure Ones are members of a religious cult floundering under the rule of their stubborn leader, while his young mate has the potential to change the nation completely; and a world in which the kingdoms still have nobles, and two familiar brothers find themselves faced with gut-wrenching choices. Will Soren and Kludd follow different paths this time around?

* * *

Today is the day I have dreamt about since owlethood, yet I cannot join the celebrations. The clamor of my soldiers, decorated and mercenary alike, drift into my new hollow as the gadfeathers sing yet another dancing reel. They are drunk, absolutely wasted from the ample amounts of grog and milkberry mead found in the Great Tree's cellars. And why shouldn't they be? The Guardians put up a terrific fight that left nearly a quarter of my owls wounded or dead. Yet it was all for naught: where they had skill, we had sheer numbers.

A few were taken as prisoners, including the famed Berserker, the one-owl army. He was sent to kill me himself, after the battle was clearly lost for the Guardians. Luckily a young Whiskered Screech lieutenant was able to subdue him. However, many of the Guardians fled for the mainland, where they will no doubt join the fragments of the Kielian League and the Northern Resistance that fled south after our previous victory. We must strike them swiftly, just as lightning, and scatter them once more.

For now, there is a thought pestering me, setting my gizzard churning… who will I be fifty, a hundred years from now, when they're telling the story of the Fall of the Guardians?

It's something I've noticed about owlet's stories: the villains are utterly consumed by evil and the heroes can do no wrong. Yet the characters become reflections of themselves for the other side. For example, hagsfiends can be monsters immersed in dark magen or enlightened creatures blessed with a capacity for intelligence far beyond us mere owls; King Hoole can be godlike or a raving maniac; and Glaux could be conceived as a metaphorical epitome of owlkind or a flesh-and-blood deity.

So how will I be thought of? The 'Orphan Maker' and a tyrant, or the chosen one? Better yet, how will I tell my own story, at the end of it all? I am no hero. I have killed mercilessly, and I will kill many, many more before I die. But the cause I serve is pure, my motives directed by something larger than myself.

The night is thinning, leaving the sky a thin, uncertain grey.

Let it be known then: true tales are not black in white, but instead dwell in between, in the foggy and unclear shades of grey. No owl is without fault or failing: no owl is purely good or evil.

-_from the journal of Lord Bylyric, Commander of the Ice Talons League, upon the Conquering of Ga'Hoole_


	2. An Heir and a Spare

_Why are there kingdoms with no kings? Many ignorant owls, mainly from the barbaric Northern Waste, ask this question. It is difficult to answer, but my research had led me to the conclusion that there were, indeed, kings ruling the Southern Kingdoms up to a thousand years ago, at which time Hoole supposedly united the kingdoms under the Ga'Hoolian banner. This was the Golden Age, which lasted for a shining, though brief, moment._

_I have found that the best evidence for this theory lies in the relics of the system still in place. To this day, noble families still dwell in their palatial, ancestral trees and pass down their holdings and honorary titles (their species names) to their firstborn son. The system survived the coming of Hoole, as well as the Grey Ages, thanks to tradition._

_In order to ensure this system for millennia to come, noble owl, I shall provide you with this brief summary of my manual: Train your sons in battle and verse, and in tactics, both diplomatic and martial. If you are presented with a female owlet, know that she will provide an excellent opportunity for diplomacy in marriage into another noble owl dynasty. Perhaps the most important of all is this: always produce at least two sons, an heir and a spare._

From the Introduction of _Proper Etiquette and Training of Noble Tytos and Family Registry_ by Braeden Albainius Tytan, Year 7 of the Age of Enlightenment

* * *

It was a quiet morning in the forest kingdom of Tyto. The autumn sunlight fell softly to the pine needle carpeted floor, gilding the edges of needles and leaves a resplendent gold. High above the ground, in the branches of a massive fir tree peppered with hollows perched two Barn Owlets. They were both fledged, the younger more recently, as more fluffy down curled out from underneath his honey-colored feathers. The older, larger owlet was much darker, his white face bordered by feathers the color of overturned soil.

"C'mon, it's easy! Just spread your wings, give a flap, and kick out!" the older said, demonstrating. His talons were a deadly blur, leaving six deep gouges on the branch he lashed out at. He smiled at little at his excellent work, but then frowned as he watched his brother's half-hearted attempt.

"Soren, you've got to mean it! This is one of the most basic attacks, and if you can't master _that_, well," he trailed off in frustration as his brother turned to him, eyebrows knitted. _Oh Glaux, here it comes,_ thought the older in exasperation, knowing full well what that look meant.

"I don't see the point, Kludd," Soren muttered, "There's no way _I'll _ ever be a warrior. And even if I were as good as you, as strong as you, Da _still _wouldn't care." He cuffed the branch with a talon and stared down. Kludd let out a long, whistling sigh, and fought to keep from rolling his eyes. Indeed, this was the familiar argument that seemed to rise to Soren's beak ever since he learned his words.

"Of course Da would care. Instead of just one Albayn knight, there'd be two. Even if one _is _only a spare," Kludd muttered the last line and almost regretted his cruel words when Soren's beak quivered. Almost, though, since he knew it was true. He certainly didn't believe babying Soren would make his Da's neglect any less hurtful. "He's just that way, and if you would try harder…"

"You don't believe that you're his favorite?" said Soren, his head snapping up to glare at Kludd. "Look at who gets the biggest share of his prey! Look at who he taught to fly first, to branch first, to fight first! Glaux, he'd promise you the kingdom if it were still ruled by our family! You're certainly set to inherit the Albayn Palace." The younger owlet glared back at the trunk of said palace, and Kludd's gizzard lurched at the sight of Soren's eyes filling with tears.

They remained silent and dust motes and birdsong swirled through the slightly chilly air.

"You know as well as I do that's it's an empty title," Kludd said finally. He scoffed, "The heir of a frinkin' big tree in a king-less kingdom. At least you aren't tied to some moldy thousand-year-old tree forever. After you learn to fly, you'll be gone." Kludd swallowed hard, and then realized what he sounded like: a mewling, whiny owlet, just like his frinking brother! He frowned and quashed the trembling thoughts out.

"That's just it!" Soren burst out, his claws gripping the branch so hard his knuckles lost their color. "It's not about the frinkin' tree! I don't give a pellet about titles or inheritances or even being called the 'spare', I just want…" He trailed off, and looked up into the canopy above. "I just want Da to see me. I'm not a powerful warrior but I can out-read and out-write even Mum now, and I… I can feel things in my gizzard, Kludd. And I have dreams," Soren sighed, his tension and rage deserting him, and he slumped. "I just want him to see that."

Kludd clacked his beak, words failing him. _What does he want _me_ to do about it? _he thought, _Give him a frinkin' hug and say 'there, there'?_ The image nearly made him yarp a pellet. Glaux his brother could be so gibblywibbly!

"Get some gallgrot, Soren," he finally growled his father's favorite phrase, cuffing Soren's back with a wing. Then his tone grew lighter."And buck up. Just think: tonight'll be my big hunt, and maybe afterwards you can have your First Flight."

"Whatever you say," Soren murmured, and then yawned. "Or maybe I'll just fly with you on the hunt…"

Kludd churred and Soren's eyes lit up and he laughed too. "Well, let's call it a day. We'll need some rest for tonight," Kludd said, and the brothers hopped down a branch and, parting the moss curtain, they entered cool shade of the sleeping hollow.

They crept around their parents- their father perched up on a ledge above, and their mother on the floor next to a nest containing a single gleaming egg- to their own niches. Snuggling into soft down and luxurious rabbit ear moss their eyelids grew heavy.

"Good light Soren," Kludd whispered over the gentle snores of their sleeping parents.

"Good light, Kludd," Soren yawned back.

Almost instantly, they drifted off in that sleepy daytime air.

No one noticed when five owls circled their tree and then perched in a neighboring fir. Not one of the Albas, even with their excellent hearing, caught the whispered words of the leader:

"When they go hunting, we move in."


	3. Tween-Time Lessons

"…and with that, Tytian slashed out, cutting down the Greymage with a single mighty blow!" Noctus Alba's rich voice swelled in the perching-hollow as he mimed brandishing a sword. Outside, the sun wobbled on the horizon like an orange egg yolk. Soren blinked sleepily, stifling a yawn, as he traded a covert glance with Kludd. Their daily training sessions left them bone-tired, especially when their father started lessons before night had even fallen. Noctus took a breath. He looked exactly like an older version of Kludd: tall and strapping, with a rich dark brown back and facial rim feathers and a thick scattering of black spots through his breast feathers.

"Then the beastly mage burst into ash," Noctus said with a _whoosh _of his wings, "and the wind scattered it west of Tyto and it burned the land, scalding it until no trees or grass could grow there ever again, leaving it a desert. When the Crowl of the Wild Woods saw that the hero had completed his quest she blessed Tytian and all his descendants, bestowing upon him our fair kingdom." Noctus bowed his head slightly, smiling.

"Tytian spread his wealth among his knights, known now as the esteemed Tytian Order. To our ancestor, Ferrighan Noctus Alba, he bestowed the scimitar used to slay the Graymage," Noctus turned his head in a near-complete circle. The owlets followed his gaze to where the gleaming sword hung proudly on the wall. "It was forged in the First Age, the Age of Glaux, by Tytian's brother Nyroc. It is said that Nyroc knew the secrets of magen and crafted the sword from starlight under a full moon, so he named it Starblaze. After his death, the art of blacksmithing was lost for centuries, and many blades were destroyed for fear of nachtmagen. Very few owls have ever seen a Nyronian blade and very few blades remain in the original families." Noctus, still smiling, turned his head back to face the owlets. His dark eyes lit on Kludd.

"And one day, it will be yours."

Soren drummed his talons in boredom. He tried to catch Kludd's eye, hoping to make him laugh again, however he frowned when he saw Kludd swelling with pride and dancing between talons, clearly itching to try out the sword. He should have known better: war and brute strength were what got Kludd's blood racing. _He's anything but subtle,_ thought Soren, scoffing inwardly.

"Any questions?" Noctus asked, and Soren snapped to attention. A prickling of curiosity had been bothering him during the lecture, like an itch he just couldn't reach. Hesitating, he raised a wing and his father sighed.

"Yes, Soren?"

"Um… what exactly… made the Crowl of the Wild Woods a 'crowl' and not a hagsf-" Soren was cut off when Kludd gave him a sharp kick to his shin. The damage was done, however.

"We don't use that word," Noctus said as he straightened to his full height, glaring at the owlet from the corner of his eye. "It is a lowly word, used by ignorant owls to scare others. Crowls were a noble race until those so-called _Guardians_ slaughtered them mercilessly."

"So there really were Guardians at Ga'Hoole at some point," Soren said quickly.

Noctus gritted his beak. "Do-not-say-that-name!"he fumed, his feathers fluffing out in anger. Merilla, who had been perched near the wall on the egg, looked up from reading her task list.

"Noctus, please let the boy be," Merilla said in a low voice. "He's too young to understand."

"It doesn't matter how old he is!" Noctus said, his voice ringing clear and hostile. "Imagine the embarrassment he'll bring upon us if he lets slip the _h_-word at his Court Presentation! Or what if he goes on about the Guardians like they're heroes?! He'll lose his chance to join an Order, or worse, his chance to be knighted!"

Soren flinched, his gizzard quavering under his da's clearly enunciated scolding. It was among one of the greatest dishonors for a young nobleowl to be rejected from knighthood. And imagine if he became a knight only to join the Sootyn League? The old system of knightly Orders was based on the species of the first followers of Tytos: the highest being the Order of Tytian, the lowest, the non-military Sootyn League. _I would be better of dead than a Sooty in Da's eyes, _Soren thought. Soren swallowed, trying to steel his quaky thoughts.

"Legends say that there were once good owls at the Tree. Before the Ice King…" Merilla said softly. Soren perked up, cocking his head curiously at his mother, but the gentle words slipped right past Noctus' earslits. He was pacing now, wings tucked sharply behind him, his talons clicking against the polished floor.

"And worse: imagine if he says it around his sister when she hatches! If she picks up his foul language, she'll be a maiden for life!"

"Noctus, now you're being ridiculous!" Merilla hooted sharply. She adjusted to a more comfortable position over said sister's egg. "This isn't the Grey Ages anymore- this little one will choose her own mate." She bent closer to the white shell and crooned, "She will have a life of her own making. I can already tell she'll be strong and brave and feisty." Merilla smiled to herself and Noctus clenched his beak.

"Arranged marriages are the lifeblood of our heritage, Merilla, one of the few ways we ensure that the estate passes smoothly…" he fell silent at Merilla's reproachful look and then hastened to add, "But, of course we'll manage whatever we decide when the time comes." He added in a low tone, "As long as her choice is an eligible nobleowl. "

Merilla's smile slipped into an irritated frown and she returned to sitting on the egg. Soren felt bad for his little sister: while he received nothing of his family's so-called heritage, she practically became one of the Alba's collection of treasures, to be doled out to whoever her father deemed to be worthy, just like a pair of battleclaws or a box of precious stones… Soren shuddered. _If I ever get the chance, sister, I'll help free you,_ he swore to her silently.

"Now!" Noctus' hoot jarred Soren from his thoughts. "Time for a spot of tweener," said Noctus. He hopped to the small inner opening of the hollow and gave the wood a sharp rap with his knuckles. The vinerope picked up slack and moments later a nestmaid snake laden with tea and plates filled with roasted vole slithered out from the dumbwaiter platform. Soren smiled when he saw who it was.

"Good evening, Mrs. P.!" Soren said. Subtly, the blind snake waggled the end of her tail, a timid smile flickering across her face.

"How many times do I have to tell you, don't bother the servants with chatter, Soren!" His Da snapped. Soren rolled his eyes as Mrs. P. dropped her head as she took her place. "And call her by her proper name: Plishiver, is it now?"

"Plithiver, m'lord, Mrs. Plithiver."

"Right, or just simply 'snake'. No more of this nicknaming nonsense. Most unbecoming."

"Noctus," Merilla said in a tone bidding caution. She gave him a slight shake of her head.

"Oh, let's just eat already," he huffed, and the tense, silent meal began.

* * *

Soon, the sunset-glow faded, and the stars rose in the deep blue sky. "It's time." Noctus gave Kludd a nod and the family rose as one. Mrs. P. gracefully excused herself, and disappeared down the dumbwaiter. Soren trailed after Noctus and Kludd to the hollow hole, as he mother hung back to wrap the egg into its special carrying pouch.

Kludd danced between his feet, nervously tapping his side with a wing until his father smiled at him. Soren scowled at this adoring gaze. _If only he could give me a look half that proud, _he thought miserably. _I'm every bit his blood as _he_ is._

"Go on out, son, I've got some instructions to rely to your brother," Noctus said with a smile, patting Kludd's back as he hopped to the branch outside. "There's a good lad." He turned back to Soren, and his smile slipped away. "While we're gone, Horatio will come to give you some branching lessons… possibly even some battleclaw prep, if you do well enough. You will meet him at the armory hollow."

Soren barely contained a huff. _That old bird's probably quaffed enough grog by now he won't know which way's up and which way's down, _he thought grimly.

He looked back and caught his mother staring at him.

"I-I'll be in the sleeping hollow, dearest. If you want to read, or talk or…"

Noctus gave Soren a push to the exit. "Not until the boy's had his lessons. Now, on with you," Noctus said, gesturing Soren out of the hollow.

As he passed Kludd Soren whispered, "Good luck." He got a nervous jerk of the head in return.

As Soren hopped down the set of branches that curled around the trunk to the armory, he watched Kludd and Noctus launchfrom the branch and spiral up above the forest, black silhouettes against the stars. _They're heading west,_ he noted. Soren stopped his descent, and gazed longingly out over the forest. _Frinkin' racdrops, why shouldn't I? _Carefully, he brushed past needle-laden twigs until the slender end of the branch dipped just slightly under his weight.

_Surely I've practiced enough, more than most owls my age, _Soren thought, his heart beginning to thrum against his ribs. Blood rushed through his body, loud as white-water rapids to his sensitive ears, as he slowly spread his wings. _And the ground's not so far here, the pine needles would make easy landing… _He shook away his thoughts. Flying was not about logic, not about thinking. It was something else, like magen, like legends of great owls… it was about belief.

Soren swallowed hard and closed his eyes. He believed. _He believed_. Before another thought could stick him fast to the branch, Soren pushed off with all his strength, falling into the dark… then, with a wobble, the air caught under his feathers and instinct kicked in.

_So this is flying!_ He flapped his wings, his heart racing as he swooped above the canopy. The wind riffled soft and cool through his feathers, and he relished the feeling of scooping the air, shaping it. It was like every dream he had ever had was coming true. _So this is freedom!_

The Albayn Palace dwindled in the distance as Soren, caught in the throes of pure joy, started trailing after the shapes of his father and brother.


	4. Ice, Blood, and Fire

The autumn night was crisp and crackling with opportunity as Kludd and Noctus flew to their hunting grounds. Noctus, of course, couldn't let the opportunity to quiz his heir, and his beak had been running non-stop since they left the hollow.

"What are our responsibilities as nobles?" Noctus asked, flipping his head up to look at Kludd.

Kludd allowed a few wingbeats to pass before he answered. Finally, he replied, "To parcel out and maintain the hunting grounds of our subjects, as well as to settle any disputes."

Noctus gave a sharp nod. "And as knights?"

Kludd repressed a sigh. This was one of the times he wished he had Soren's brains. "To… ah… it depends on the Order you join, I suppose."

"Right, but would you care to elaborate?"

Kludd clenched his talons. _Glaux, what does it matter? There's only one worth joining! _"We swear to defend the kingdom and the system of nobility, to maintain its borders, and to discourage unsavory owls from entering the kingdom. Especially the Northern barbarians, kraals, and raiders."

Noctus gave a huff of disdain. "Indeed, those are the duties of a single Order, that of Tytian. While they are important, Kludd, they alone do not keep our way of life from crumbling. The other Orders are equally as important."

_He's just saying that because he got the Novean Order,_ Kludd thought dully. "The Sootyns aren't worth two pellets," he muttered under his breath. His da churred.

"Now son, that's not the proper attitude," Noctus said, without a trace of reprimand. Kludd allowed a smile to creep onto his beak.

It was well known that the Sooties, as they were called, were the most spineless of Orders and generally became Glauxian monks after a few terms of service, just to escape the dishonor. The founder, Uriah, had been a Sooty Owl and so named the League after his species. He had created an order of knights to serve his purpose of maintaining the health of the kingdom by a life of servitude to any and all owl families. It was a move the Sooty Owls of Tyto Forest had resented, as it gave their entire species a weak, pacifistic reputation quite unbecoming in the warrior halls of Tyto's elite. This prejudice obviously had crept into the minds of the High Counsel, who assigned young nobleowls their Order: You rarely met a Sootyn Leaguer who _wasn't_ a Sooty Owl.

The Albas had two Sootyn servants themselves, in addition to a dozen nestmaid snakes.

"I can't remember the rest," Kludd drawled. Noctus flapped up to fly side-by-side with him, and shot him a him a glance down the length of both their wings.

"Straighten up your primaries on the upbeat, son. You're flying as loudly as a crow. Scares away the prey," Noctus commented. Kludd did as told and Noctus continued, "While you're favored for Tytian, it's proper to at least know the names of the others: Tytian being the highest, of course; followed by Novean, the masked swordsowls and do-gooders; then Calpi, the skilled flyers and healers; and Sootyn, as the lowest."

Noctus' voice fell to a whisper. "We're here. I want you to find a place to perch while I clear out any other owls. You need a clean field for your first hunt."

"But Da!" Kludd protested, as his father started spiraling in for a landing. Groaning, he followed, landing on a branch of an oak. His da flashed him a smile and took off. Kludd watched his retreating figure grumpily.

"There'd better not be any owls out there… night's almost gone, and we've spent most of it talking!" he grumbled, and started when a hissing laugh caught his ear. Tensing, he cocked his head to and fro, honing in on the source of the sound… with a fearsome speed, Kludd threw himself off his perch and straight to the ground where he slammed into something soft. The laughter dissolved into a spluttering gasp.

Kludd forcefully flipped the other owl onto its back, his startled anger fueling his actions, those he had practiced countless times with his da… but it faded to shock when the other owl's face loomed white out of the darkness.

"Still talking to yourself, brother?" Soren smiled, his eyes glinting with mocking light.

"Soren?! What the sprink are you doing here?" Kludd screeched, pushing the younger owl away from him. With a flap of his wings, Soren was on his feet and shaking off the dust.

"I told you I'd be following you tonight," he said. He shot Kludd an innocent look. "You didn't believe me?"

"You shouldn't _be _here," Kludd hissed, looking around. _Great, not only did my splat-brained brother follow me, but now we've probably scared off all the prey_, he thought, anger searing his gizzard. "Da's gonna kill you-" Kludd fell silent as both the brothers' heads snapped up. Loud ragged wingbeats snapped in their sensitive ears, and both could tell the birds making the racket weren't far off.

"_Crows?" _Soren beaked. Kludd only shrugged. Another softer, more subtle sound was hitting his earslits.

"_Da's coming. Stay put,_" he whispered back. Soren huffed but didn't move when Kludd power-flapped up to a branch. It wasn't a moment too soon, as Noctus landed next to him. His brow was wrinkled as he listened to the approaching sound.

"Don't know who that is," Noctus muttered, squinting into the night. Weaving through the trees were two misshapen birds. As they drew closer, Kludd noticed that the moonlight glinted off them, strangely shimmering and sending golden rays into the darkness. _Cloaks, _he thought suddenly, _they're cloaked owls._ Now the noisiness of their flight made sense… but what kind of owl wore a cloak to hunt in? Usually they were just ceremonial.

Noctus stiffened as the owls circled their tree and landed on the branch directly in front of them. They were Tytos, both decked out in golden cloaks and eerie, silver heart-shaped masks. Their eyes glittered, dark and cold as the water of an icy river. _Merciless_, Kludd thought. These owls were killers.

"Good evening," one said through its mask in the tones of a male Barn Owl.

"Good evening to you," Noctus replied, clearly struggling to keep his voice steady. The other owl's companion nodded mutely. With a talon, it fiddled with something on its other leg… Kludd felt his gizzard lurch as he realized it was the sheath of an ice dagger. Adrenaline began to buzz through his veins, and his training kicked in: he traced the lines of the first owl's cloak, with stuck out too sharply at the back and curved just like a scimitar. _Great Glaux, they're armed, _he thought and flexed his talons. This was not going to end well.

"Will you live up to your promise, Noctus Alba, or must we persuade you?" the owl asked in a mild voice. His silent companion glanced up, letting his cloak fall to obscure his weapon.

"Promise? What in the name of Tytian Albanius are you talking about?" Noctus snapped. Kludd jerked to attention at the full name of Tytian, their secret code for preparation… Kludd settled into position, his eyes scouring for his father's next signal…

"You promised your owlets to us, to our cause. We have come to collect on your oath."

"I'm afraid you're mistaken, gentleowls. My alligience lies with only my Order and the High COuncil. And I certainly haven't sworn my owlets to either of them, as of yet." A smile, fearsome and savage, crept onto the masked Barn Owl's beak.

"Dear me, I was afraid it was going to end like this," he paused, drawing out the hissing noise with a grim satisfaction. His eyes shone with cruel delight as he directed his gaze to his companion. "You know what to do, then." The other owl smirked, then burst out in a blood-curdling shriek that shattered the quiet of the forest. As the Barn Owl turned back to them, Kludd saw his da's talon cut down in a severing motion. The signal.

Kludd burst from the branch, talons spread wide. He slammed into the smaller owl, hurtling them both into open air. The owl screeched as they fell, Kludd's talons locked in its breast feathers. Kludd was preparing to slam it to the ground with all his might when pain flared across his shin and his talons opened. As he rose, the other owl recovered and flew up towards him, ice dagger shining with a bloodied tip.

A screech tore through the night, as the other cloaked owl plummeted, its wing severed. Noctus swooped down, the owl's ice scimitar in his talons, poised to strike.

"Surrender now an' maybe they'll forgive you," the remaining owl hissed. Kludd recognized its voice. "Or kill me an' bring the wrath of the nation down on yer own heads!" He spat at them, and Noctus' eyes hardened to black river rock.

"Gerrus, you coward! How dare you hide behind a mask to threaten me!" Noctus snarled. _Gerrus, _Kludd thought, shocked, _neighbor Gerrus, the one that always brings us the flying squirrels for payment? _The rounded, smiling tenant couldn't be hiding behind that cold mask, his voice swelling in outrage…

"You brought this upon yerself, Noctus!" Gerrus screeched back, "You swore your family's allegiance to us, an' yet failed to act when we called. This is just us taking what is rightfully ours!"

He looked out over Kludd's shoulder, and his eyes sparkled with delight.

"Best be flyin' home boys… to what's left of it, anyways."

Noctus and Kludd flipped their heads around completely, not caring that Gerrus was fleeing. An orange glow blossomed in the distance on the tallest tree on the rise. The scimitar fell from Noctus' slack talons, as a wail pierced the air and jolted to a stop.

Not a word passed between them. It didn't need to.

They flew as fast as they could, their wings a blur, wind drying out their eyes and bringing a stinging swirl of ash and acrid smoke.

The Albayn Palace was burning.


	5. Fall from Grace

Soren peered up through the branches at the strangers. He could feel the tension even from the ground as they squared off against his father and brother. He trembled.

_First flight, first fight, all in the same night, _his nerve-wracked thoughts made him want to churr. And bring up a pellet. He snapped back to attention as the smaller owl screeched, and just before the fight broke out, he heard a screaming reply, one that made his gizzard clench.

It was his mother's pain-racked cry.

Before he could even think, Soren burst into flight. The screeches clamored through his earslits as he flew, faster than any owl could have ever flown. Branches whipped and stung him until he finally rose above the canopy, blood running down his face. The Albayn Palace rose before him as his mother's scream cut off suddenly. A flurry of owls with silver faces burst from the sleeping hollow, but Soren jostled past them, shooting straight into the hollow. He landed hard, falling to his knees.

Wincing in pain, he looked up and his wings dropped against his sides, heavy as stones.

Merilla was on her back, struggling for breath. He couldn't make sense of it: just where he would bury his head when she would hug him a black hilt stuck out, so foreign in those soft white feathers. They were still white, not a hint of blood, but that hilt shone cold in the moonlight…

It didn't click, didn't make sense, until her beak clattered open. "Soren." Her voice was a hoarse croak. Her eyes stared blankly at the ceiling.

"Soreeeen!" Her call echoed the Tyto searching-cry, whistling and full of longing.

"Mum," he choked, blinking hard to clear his vision. She turned her head to meet his eyes. Strange, he never noticed that little dot by her eye, like a fleck of gold had slipped down from her crown feathers. Merilla's pain-fogged eyes softened when she met his.

"Eglantine. That's what I would have named her," she whispered, and looked back up at the ceiling. "They took her, Soren, they stole her…" She turned back to him, suddenly full of urgency.

"It wasn't who you'd think it was," she coughed, a drops of blood accompanying her words. "It-it was me… I thought they'd take her away, not to be married off… You've got to find her… you've got to, I was wrong… You can't blame him, it was my doing," she sighed. Soren hopped closer, tilting his head, desperate to hear a heartbeat… deafening silence met his earslits.

"No," he muttered. His voice was gritty. He leaned over, preening her crown feathers. "Mum… _please_." Only stillness, where once was the life-sound of Merilla Alba, answered him. Thoughts, wordless and running like a snow water-swollen river, raged through his head. The image of the silver heart faces gleaming in the moonlight…

Something burning coursed through his veins, his gizzard churned… he yanked the hateful thing from his mother's chest, and reeled back to fling it at the wall, but something stilled Soren's talon.

It was a three-pronged dagger with both sides of the hilt curving up into sharpened points on either side of the central blade. A white opal, shimmering with flecks of pink, green, and gold, was set in the pommel, and it all but blazed in the moonlight. Words, carved deep into the central blade, were filled with the deep crimson of his mother's blood.

"_Blessed moonlight,_" he read, his voice shaking. He flipped it over, "_Guide this cursed soul_."

He started at the clicking of the dumbwaiter, the dagger clenched in his fist. It rattled to a stop and an iridescent pile of coils came into the light.

"M'lady? Soren?" a cry rang up the dumbwaiter shaft as Mrs. P slithered out, so hastily her scales scraped roughly on the polished floor. Her breath came in rattling pants, and her head roved all around, sightless eye-dents scouring the sleeping-hollow.

"Mrs. P," Soren choked, his throat dry and acrid. He clenched the dagger with all his might, color fleeing his knuckles. He blinked hard, tears filling his eyes. "Sh-she's gone! Mum…" The snake gave a small gasp.

"O my poor Mistress!" she hissed, her voice thick. Mrs. P shuddered. "And the egg! But sir! You must flee! I don't know how it happened, but the tree is catching fire! You must go now, warn your father and Kludd!"

Soren twitched, an electrifying light filling his eyes. "My father?" His voice was calm, the moments of peace between lightning and thunder. _She said 'don't blame _him_'... I've been a coward too long, letting that owl make me cower under his wing… but this is it. He's gone too far, _Soren thought. He could no longer be that little, quivering owlet he had started out the day as. He could no longer stand the tyranny of his father, the one who had treated him like racdrop from the day he hatched.

He could no longer be the spare of the Albayn palace.

Mrs. P lunged toward him, stretching her face up to his, desperation charging her words. "Yes, warn him! The fire, the egg, your mothe-" Soren winced, as his mother's white presence on the floor now pressed heavily on his chest.

Still, he forced a laugh, a humorless noise, and a shiver coursed down Mrs. P's body.

"Don't you see, Mrs. P? My father was the cause of this," Soren said, the pieces clicking neatly into place, "he had sworn all of us, his owlets, to an order, a powerful one, and Mum had even convinced him to include little Eglantine in it, just to save her from his frinking plan to pair her off with the first eligible nobleowl. This was all his doing." Soren's talons tightened on the dagger, its cool metal leeching warmth from his leg.

He swallowed hard, pushing down the sharp edge of doubt that had suddenly blossomed in his chest. _What was it Da always said? 'Get some gallgrot', just before he would backtalon me…_ Soren gritted his beak, mentally steeling over his gizzard. _Thank Glaux Kludd taught me some tricks, _he thought. He tossed the dagger in the air, catching it with his other.

"Get out now, Mrs. P, you've done all you can," he said. His eyes traced the blade that still shone red with his mother's blood, "And now I must do all _I _can."

* * *

The snake fled to the outer staircase only moments before Soren heard the rapid wingbeats of Kludd and his da through the crackling of the growing flames. He tensed, his heart throbbing, loud as thunder in his earslits.

Heat blazed through the hollow, causing the air to waver around his hastily-shrouded mother. Soren forced his gaze back to the entrance, reining his thoughts back to tactics, as his father landed heavily on the branch outside. Noctus, his eyes locked on the form of his dead mate, didn't see the soot-smeared fledgling… Soren launched himself through the hollow, bloodied dagger shining hungrily in his talon, as his father's dark eyes widened shock.

He landed on Noctus hard, knocking him to the floor. The dagger was glittering at Noctus' throat before Soren was totally aware of what was happening.

"Soren," Noctus said, his throat-feathers brushing the blade, "What…"

"No more! Not another word!" Soren screeched gutturally. His eyes were locked on the pinned owl, that traitorous scum, the owl that instigated his mother's death through his foolishness…

With a fluttering Kludd was in the hollow. His face shone with horror, as he took in the sight of his brother: Soren, whose once pure-white face was a mask of congealed blood, whose dagger paused hungrily at his father's throat. "Soren, what in Glaux's name are you doing?!" His voice was high and tight with fear. "We've got to get outta here, and find… Mum…" Kludd fell silent as his gaze lit on Merilla. When he turned to look at Soren again, his expression was absolutely blank.

"It was all him Kludd! This... this sprinkin' turnfeather sold us out, and they killed Mum for it!" Soren hissed, his black eyes burning with rage, never leaving his father's contorted face.

"Son, please."

Noctus spoke the words quietly, in the tone reserved only for Kludd… _the tone of a father_. Soren hesitated, the blade sliding back a half inch. _C'mon, you have to do this! Your life won't be worth two pellets if he survives!_ Soren's thoughts screamed, drowning out the fire, the stirring of wings, distracting him from the slashing jerk of one of Noctus' talons…

Something slammed into him from behind, pushing him over the lip of the hollow entrance, and the branches and sky spun in a sickening whirl. He couldn't scream when he slammed into a branch and felt a bone in his wing snap. With a _thump_ and a rush of breath, Soren hit the ground.

He struggled to suck in air, and failed. His talons finally released the dagger, and it fell from his claws.

The flames flickered above him, clawing and tearing at the Albayn Palace. Ashes swirled around him and piled up in the corners of his vision, thickening, slowly obscuring the sight of glistening pink strands flying away from the tree. No, falling. Nestmaids jumping to safety.

He caught a glimpse of shadows of owls dancing up against the stars in a wave of sparks before his vision went dark.

Soren was unconscious when a set of battle-clawed talons scooped him up, up into the sky.


	6. Flight and Fight

"Soren! Soreeen?" Kludd called, the searching-cry ringing through the trees. The forest floor rushed by underneath him, the grey morning air tinged with the smell of leafy decay and mist. He had ranged out, flying in low, ever-widening circles from the Palace, yet he hadn't found a single sign of his brother or remains of a Barn Owl egg. The servants had fled, as there were no bodies, yet he couldn't find a single one to question. The rushing heartbeat of a squirrel reached his earslits and his stomach rumbled. Kludd shook it away: his discomfort, his hunger was nothing.

'_He's probably dead,'_ his father had replied when Kludd said he was going to search, _'And why shouldn't he be? Your sister, your mother, they most certainly are.' _Kludd's mind raged against the thought, shaking away the sight of his father's dull gaze as he watched the embers flicker and pulse at the base of the tree. The Albayn Palace still stood, charred to pitch-blackness up nearly three-quarters of the tree. Their sleeping hollow was one of the few untouched, with that shrouded silent figure stretched across the floor… Kludd blinked hard, his eyes stinging.

_Enough, focus or you'll never find Soren, never figure out what happened, never get to say…_ He dropped the thought and allowed a steely state of being, one his da called 'the soldier's mindset', clamp down on him. _Emotion is weakness, there is only the here and now, the battle, the search… _he was back at the tree, and there was no sign of his father. _Soren couldn't have gotten all that far, flying was fairly new to him, _Kludd reasoned, _so maybe I should try some groundwork, pick up any traces…_

Just as he began spiraling into a descent, he caught a flash of silver from the corner of his eyes and Kludd instinctively folded his wings into a rapid drop.

His attacker rushed over him with a gust of air and Kludd opened with wings with a rush, shooting back up above the canopy. He heard twigs snapping and looked down. What he saw made him almost go yeep.

"_Da_? What-" Noctus did not slow, did not swerve, so Kludd quickly backwinged away. Raging, Noctus turned on his son, Starblaze sparkling fiercely in the sunrise. Kludd's heart thudded in fear as his father leered at him, his normally beautiful heart-shpaed face now seemed masklike, hard and unforgiving as granite. His eyes burned with hatred, and something behind them was not quite clicking…

"_You_…" Noctus seethed, "This. Was. _YOU_!" Starblaze sung as Noctus struck out, and Kludd only pushed back in time for the razor-sharp blade to slice of the edges of a few breast feathers.

"Da, no, it wasn't! I-I didn't do this!" Kludd said, voice rising with panic. Thoughts, strategies blazed through his head, but he could grasp nothing.

"Your mother, your unborn sister! Slain, because of your actions! Your brother, killed by your own talons!" Noctus screeched, striking out again and again with scimitar, each time the blade whistled closer and closer, despite Kludd's dodging.

"Father- Da- wait, you don't-" Starblaze's metallic voice hissed as it nicked of the end of a primary. Noctus' dark eyes smouldered, a deep burning hatred stilling Kludd's wings for a split second.

"You have no right to call me that! You are not my son!"

Starblaze swung out one last time, and flames seemed to lick across Kludd's chest. Gasping in pain, he caught sight of his white breast feathers rapidly turning crimson, and his father's scimitar, the Nyronian blade that was as much a source of pride to Noctus as his eldest son and heir, whistling and spinning down. Kludd did not watch it disappear through the treetops: instead, he followed it.

The howling air moved around him, riffling his feathers, branches smacked him. Kludd closed his eyes, wondering, for a heartbeat, if it would be better to end this way. What had he to live for? His only family left believed him responsible for the deaths of the rest, tried to kill him, his inheritance burned and marked with death…

_No signs of death_, he thought, the moments seeming to slow now, the wind no longer whipping him, but flowing past him like a gentle summer thermal.

_Mum, the egg, _he listed dully. _And Soren…_

_Then where is his body? And the egg shards?_

He rolled off a needle-laden bough, slowing his descent, but now Kludd wasn't so sure death was the best option.

_They could be alive. And that's enough to live for._

Kludd's eyes snapped open and he unfurled his wings with a snap. It was only enough to slow him, and he slammed into the ground hard enough that spots danced before his eyes. He stayed still, panting.

There, in the stench of moldering leaves and the crackling of dead pine needles, the young Barn Owl sat with his belly pressed to the forest floor, his wings limp at his sides. Ruby drops of blood hit the dry leaves, rolled off, and were soaked up by the dark earth.

"They could be alive," he whispered. The rising sun's rays slanted down, staining the forest floor with patches of light. "They have to be- no, but they could be…" Kludd's head snapped up at a crackling sound high above and, in fear of his father, forced himself to kick off and thread his way through the tree trunks as rapidly as possible.

Droplets of blood fell away like the tail of a comet, as Kludd's hazy thoughts fell into the same pattern of his wingbeats: _they're alive, they're alive, they're alive._

* * *

He could have been flying for hours, days, or just moments: all he knew now was that the sun's light was failing and he was flying into darkness. _East then_, he thought, _I'm heading east... –ish. _His thoughts still ran slow, just as clotted and congealed as the blood across his chest, but in his time flying he figured that it wasn't all that deep but would require a long stint without flying to heal properly.

He swallowed hard, his throat gritty from lack of water. _I have to put distance between me and the enemy_. For that is what his father became: Kludd could not bear to think of him any other way than, just simply, a momentary aggressor. Yet the truth about his fear of resting niggled at the edges of his mind: if he stopped, there was a possibility he would never move again. His vision was blurred now, and his wings trembled with every beat.

With all these distractions it was no wonder he was on top of the fight before he heard it.

A sharp screech from below jolted Kludd to wakefulness, and he quickly landed on an exceptionally leafy branch. He watched with wide eyes as three owls goaded a fourth, grounded owl, swooping down and clawing at it, coming away with great chunks of white feathers clutched in their talons. The earth-bound Snowy fought back with all his might, but for every jumping strike that he landed, the other owls got in three more. His feathers were almost more red than white now, and Kludd saw that his attacks were weakening… He felt the branch shudder and swiveled his head around to stare at a massive wall of misty-grey feathers.

"By Glaux! Are you just going to sit around and watch this owl get murdered?!" A deep but youthful voice rumbled from that massive feathery mound, and Kludd finally located its face. The owl's eyebrows arched high, questioningly, over it tawny eyes. It was a Great Grey Owl, a type Kludd had only heard of, but never seen in Tyto Forest.

"N-no," Kludd stammered, spreading his wings. He winced as he felt the scab split again over his cut. "Help me. Please." The owl smiled and winked, and the branch shook madly as he launched himself into the sky. Kludd followed the Great Grey and with, a painful flap of his wings, dove with a screech at one of the attackers.

Feathers flew. His claw attacks, though weak, still bloodied up the other owl. He barely managed to smack the Barred Owl's head with a wing and it fell to the forest floor, out cold.

A thrumming noise caught his attention, and Kludd could do nothing but hover, caught in his awe, as he watched the colossal owl fight, his words echoing back in a disturbing chorus:

_"Some owls is good_

_Some owls is bad_

_Some owls never leave their maaa-ma!_

_But I never seen this sorta brood_

_That don't know they've been had._

_These splat-brained, crow-faced birds_

_Ain't never heard_

_That Twilight stalks these woods_

_And now they'd fly off if they could!"_

With a magnificent back flip, the owl came down hard on the last, yeepish attacker, locking talons, until he hit the ground with a sickening thud, pinned under the weight of the Great Grey.

Kludd landed softly next to the Snowy Owl, as the Great Grey stepped back from the Great Horned, which was still on its back, gaping like a fish for air. The Barred Owl was still breathing softly on the ground where he had fell, but there was no sign of the third attacker.

"Are you okay?" Kludd asked, directing his full attention to the wounded Snowy Owl.

The owl blinked, and turned his head almost completely around. Kludd followed his gaze to see five other owls, ice swords and silver helmets flashing in the last sunrays from the west, arriving to circle the clearing. The Great Grey hunched down, ready to launch into the next battle, but Kludd only stared hopelessly, his strength all but completely dissipated.

The soldiers started to draw their swords, but ceased at a gentle shake of the Snowy's head.

Something flared in the late afternoon sunlight, making Kludd squint. A circlet he hadn't noticed before rested on that massive white head, golden and shaped like twining branches. Leaves carved of amber, of blood-red rubies, and of orange-tinged opals sparked and shimmered in the light, as the Snowy turned to examine him with narrowed eyes. Kludd fought to keep his beak from dropping wide open: there was no way that this owl could be…

"Well," the Snowy huffed, his eyes molten gold slits, "it seems I am indebted to you two young owls. Although, if you don't bow in the next few moments, I might just have to order my owls to take off both your heads."

The Great Grey turned to look at Kludd, baffled, only to see the Barn Owl hit his knees so fast that he winced a little and the large owl followed suit. Kludd knew exactly who this was.

The Orphan Maker, the Barbarian Tyrant from the North, the Ice King: he went by many names. However, he preferred King Bylyric, Lord of the Great Tree of Ga'Hoole, Vanquisher of the Guardians.

The most hated and feared leader the owl world had ever known.


	7. Saints of the Desert

It was a chilly night in the Desert of Kuneer, and the fires were lit in their adobe places causing the shadows to leap in dance across the sick room. The patient, brought in nearly a week ago, had his eyes squeezed shut tight, blocking out the firelight.

He sat as still as possible, his injured wing throbbing. It was bound tightly to his body in a linen sling, but other than that he was just as they found him: a mask of his own blood dried on his face, once honey-colored feathers streaked with soot. Despite his discomfort, he tried to keep his breathing as regular as possible, feigning sleep for the two owls standing in the doorway.

The young owl was concentrating, focusing in on the sound of their hushed conversation over the swishing contractions of his heart, their hearts, and the crackling of the fire. It was obvious that it never crossed the nuns' minds that Barn Owls have especially good hearing.

"I'm worried about the newest young'un. The Tyto with the broken wing," the apprentice, identified by her matching white apron and flat cap, whispered to the Aegolian Superior. The Short-Eared Owl eyed the Saw-Whet blandly.

"And why is that, Sister Isis?" The owl in question didn't have to see her in order to know the words she didn't speak: _what is it _this _time?_

"He doesn't eat, doesn't talk, and flinches whenever I try to clean away the blood. What in Glaux's na-" he could practically _hear _the Aegolian Superior's withering look at the sound of the curse. "I mean, how abouts would an owl that young end up covered in that much blood? I think, perhaps we ought to consult the Ablah- I mean, the Saintly Council," the Saw-Whet said in a nervous rush.

The patient perked up. He had heard a little here and there on the Saintly Council over the last few days, but it remained a hushed topic, apparently clandestine to all but a few, including the Superior and her personal apprentice. It stirred up his curiosity, drew his mind away from the dark place it had started to wander to. _Finally, an interesting topic_. His hopes were dashed by the Superior's exasperated reply.

"Sister Isis, we've spoke about this. We do not disturb the Saintly Council with matters of patients' health."

"Yes, but they've developed new therapies! There could be something to help this young'un, to heal his mind and gizzard, perhaps even his scroomshaw!" The Saw-Whet's voice rose with excitement, but the patient could hear the Superior's facial feathers brushing over her crisp white collar, back and forth, shaking her head.

"Enough, Isis! Now, if you want to clean your patient, best hop to it while he's asleep!" the Aegolian Superior barked, without any pretense of trying to speak softly. He listened to her waddle away down the tunnel, and the small apprentice's cautious talon-steps approach his nest.

His lids parted over his dark eyes, and he met the nurse's tawny ones.

"Oh! I didn't realize you were awake! Do you need anything, any food, water…?" She trailed off, glancing down at her talons, then picking at the hem of her apron.

"Soren," the owl croaked, surprised at the rasp of his voice.

"Beg pardon?" Her eyes grew even rounder.

"That's my name." Soren swallowed, his mouth parched as the sandy floor. "At least, it was."

The apprentice blinked once, twice, then rushed to a small stand and poured him a nutshell full of sweet well water. Soren gratefully accepted it, guzzling it greedily. The apprentice watched, eagerly dancing from talon to talon, her eyes shining with delight. It took several refills before his thirst was finally slaked.

"I'm Isis, by the way, but I suppose you heard that already," she chirped, as she nudged a plate filled with crackers towards him. "Here, Soren, eat: these'll help." He weakly accepted a cracker, and did his best to swallow the bland, bloodless thing.

"No thanks, I'm full for now," he said as Isis help up another cracker. Indeed, his stomach seemed to have shrunken to the size of a mouse's ear over the last few empty days. Still, his gizzard continued churning and grinding most unpleasantly.

_It has nothing to do with the food, though,_ Soren thought, his mind approaching the brink again, where it had teetered ever since he awoke in this strange place. Confusion, fear, guilt all occupied this dark abyss and if he fell into it, fell into thinking about the events that had landed him here, Soren knew it was highly unlikely he would survive another day.

So he kept the ghost of his past, that pale form with a flame-engulfed shroud, at bay by learning all he could about his nurse, the desert, the place where he was being kept.

It turns out it was the desert branch of the Glauxian Sisters and Brothers, a place called St. Aegolius' Home for Orphaned Owls. However, they broke away from the Glauxian sect due to one major disagreement: the Aegolius owls, both nuns and monks, could be called to serve as warriors.

"We're at peace now, but if the Elders decide we are needed, if the cause is worthy, we could go into battle at any time. That's why our name is a bit of a contradiction," Isis said with a gentle smile, "St. Aegolius is the patron saint of owls orphaned in the wartime." _So what could the Saintly Council decide for them? _Soren wondered, but kept his beak shut.

Isis went on to explain that the entire organization dwelt in a series of wind-carved tunnels in a bluff overlooking a gulch.

"I used to think that the only sort of beauty was in the quiet and green of the forest," Isis went on, her tone relentlessly cheerful as she dabbed a wet cloth over Soren's face, trying to coax out the rusty dried blood, "after all, I'm from Silverveil, the emerald of the Southern Kingdoms. Yet while I've been here, I've found beauty even in this arid place: at night, when it cools down, the moon turns everything the color of quicksilver, including the cacti and the sand dunes. There are gorgeous thermals that radiate from the dissipating heat of the earth, and Soren! The stars! You've never truly seen stars until you've seen them in the desert night! If Silverveil's the emerald, then Kuneer must be the diamond of the Kingdoms." She paused, her eyes far-off and dreamy. Then she blinked, and Soren thought _uh-oh_. That was a look of curiosity.

"So now, young'un, what exactly is your story?"

Soren clamped his beak shut. After a moment, Isis silently finished with her cleaning and packed up the dirty linen strips into a small basket. She fluttered to the door, basket in tow, and turned back to look at Soren.

"Sorry, I understand if you don't want to talk about it. Is there anything else you need?"

Questions had been niggling at the edges of Soren's thoughts ever since he overheard the conversation earlier: _what exactly is the Saintly Council? And why didn't the Aegolian Superior want her to talk to them? _

Despite this, he found himself shaking his head. Isis flashed him a tentative smile and disappeared into the shadows of the tunnel.

"You idiot! She might've told you all about the Ablah-blah-blah thing, if you would just get over your gibblywibbly_-" _Soren's self-scolding was cut off, as the gentle _click-click_s of talons against stone reached his earslits. Then out of the darkness came a voice:

"Looks like I'm not the only one with doubts about the Saintly Sisters." Was there a churring edge to his tone?

"Who are you?" Soren asked, peering past the blazing fire. A bird seemingly melted out of the hallway shadows, and confusion washed over Soren. _Is that even an owl?_ The strange creature had a face like an owl, with arching white eyebrows and stark yellow eyes, and a mottled white -brown body. But his legs were long and naked, gleaming pale in the firelight. "_What _are you?"

The possible-owl rolled his eyes. "You Tytos are all the same: never seen a real Burrowing Owl, huh? We dig," he said, holding up a leg and flexing, impressive, knotted muscles gliding smoothly under the featherless skin. "Which is why my parents… which is why they call me Digger." The Burrowing Owl bowed, mockingly sweeping a rather short wing to his chest. "And you must be Soren Alba. Yes, while you don't know a thing about Kuneer, we've heard plenty about Tyto Forest nobility. Word travels quickly. Ancient palaces don't go up in smoke every day."

"And what exactly do you want?" Soren spat. He didn't need to be reminded of his past, didn't need to be dragged to the depths of hagsmire, just to slake this stupid owl's curiosity. There was a long pause. When Digger finally spoke, all jesting had fled his voice.

"I have a theory," Digger replied simply.

"Oh yeah? What?"

"You're innocent. You didn't murder your mother, didn't burn the Albayn Palace."

Soren remained silent. _Of course everyone thinks me a murderer. No doubt Da spun it that way, proclaiming it before the High Tytonian Council, calling for a bounty on my head. Perhaps even Kludd sees me as one. _That thought scalded him, as he remembered the sensation of Kludd knocking him over the lip of the hollow, falling down, down… Digger continued.

"No one knows what really happened: the last report on your family was that Noctus was seen trying to kill your brother. Kludd was bleeding when he fell beneath the canopy, and the witness saw your father flee, cursing and babbling like a demon."

Soren inhaled sharply. "_What?_"

Digger met his eyes, his face solemn. "You're the only one left as far as anyone knows. Soren, you're the last heir of the Albayn Palace."

_Mum's dead, Eglantine's gone, stolen away by the silver-masked owls, Da's yoicks, and Kludd… _The thought of Kludd's broken body left for scavengers on the forest floor was too much for Soren to bear. _Kludd's strong. He was well trained to deal with battle wounds. He's fine, _Soren thought, fiercely hoping it was true.

Confusion ensnared Soren in its dizzying grips. "What- why would you tell me this?!" he fumed.

"Because, despite popular belief, noble blood holds power, power like we common owls could never possess." Digger narrowed his eyes to slits of amber. "You're new here, but already you know there's something more to this place than just an orphanage, hospital, or base for a few warrior monks. It's taken me my whole month-long stay here to figure that much out. And now, like me, you don't trust this place. Unlike me, you have the power to get to the bottom of this." Digger straightened up and in a few gangly strides was at the doorway.

"I told you this because I believe in you, Soren. Now, get to figuring out what these saints are hiding."

With that remark tossed over his shoulder, the strange owl vanished, leaving Soren's thoughts less settled than ever.


	8. Loyalty at the Edge of an Ice Blade

A week at the Great Tree found Kludd barely swooping aside as an ice scimitar _swooshed _past him, nearly taking off the tip of his beak.

"Concentrate, soldier! Yer days with blunted swords be nearly over and I don't wan' the king's favorite ta lose a pretty talon or two!" Kludd barely heard the grizzled Spotted Owl holler over the sounds of the waves beating against the rocks far below and his own panting breath. The wind was working against him, driving his back into the northern most cliff of the island, as his opponent advanced, swinging his ice scimitar with ease.

Kludd gritted his beak in irritation as he swung the ice broadsword up. He dipped in flight as his opponent's blade slammed into his with a muffled _cling_. His third eyelid swiped a piece of mossy debris away.

The Long-Eared Owl was practically beaming in anticipation as he pressed Kludd closer and closer to the cliff face. Kludd could see it written across his face: the owl clearly thought there was no way a new recruit like Kludd could win this. He could feel the owl withdrawing pressure, just a little, certain of victory. Kludd saw his opportunity.

Fighting against every instinct he had, he pulled in his wings and fell. The Long-Eared's smile slacked into a dumbfounded gape as he tried to make sense of where the Barn Owl had gone. A brush of air fluttered against his ear tufts, but he turned too late. Kludd's moss-blunted blade slammed into the back of his skull, bringing about a flurry of spots that nearly made him go yeep.

Kludd swooped up past him, straight to the cliff top, and landed gently on the mossy rocks next to his instructors. He watched with smug satisfaction as the Long-Eared landed with the other soldiers, wobbled in a circle, and then slumped into a dead faint.

"Not bad, I'll grant ye," the swordsowl, a former kraal named Oscar, admitted. "Still flyin' like me ol' gran, though, what with yer right dainty sword work." Kludd said nothing. _High praise from the old codger, _he thought, and gave a bow.

He turned to the flight instructor, an old female Spotted Owl, who shot Oscar a withering look.

"As _I_ flew with his gran on several missions, I would consider it the highest compliment this owl is capable of giving. 'Dainty sword work,' as he says, merely means you wield the blade with great skill, young'un. Your previous teacher must have been quite the swordsowl." The owl turned to catch him in her steady amber gaze, and, just for a moment, he almost felt as if she could see right through him, read his sudden pain at the memory of his da like an open scrolll… Then she blinked and the spell was broken.

"Thank you Strix Struma," Kludd replied, as he bowed once more. She inclined her head slightly, her white spots glowing softly the moonlight. Strix Stuma's head swiveled around, and Kludd followed her gaze as a massive Barn Owl joined them. He could hear whispers rippling through the gathering of his classmates behind him, and he knew it was for good reason.

Very, very few trainees were ever visited by General Stryker before being initiated into their divisions.

"Strix Struma, Oscaryb," Stryker said, his voice quiet cutting through the velvety night like steel. In the corner of his black eyes, Kludd could see his reflection, his feathers contracted tight around his body, the white bandage across his chest as bright as a sash. Stryker gave the young owl a cursory glance, snorted in what could have been disgust or laughter, and turned his attention to the Spotted Owls.

"Dismissed, soldier," he growled at Kludd, and without hesitation, Kludd took a few wing strokes to join his classmates. They fell silent at his arrival, glances of orange, tawny, and black eyes flitted to him for an instant, and then back to the powerful form of Stryker.

Kludd was relieved to not be the center of attention for once. In the past week, he had spent a few foggy, painful days in the infirmary, where the healers had forced burning grog down his throat as they stitched up the gaping wound left by Starblaze. Then, as soon as the aftereffects of the alcohol dissipated, a messenger had burst in to escort him to sword practice. For the last part of the week, he had thrown himself into sparring with other young owls, drinking in the Spotted Owls' teachings, and popping his stitches twice thus far.

During the nights, Kludd lost himself in the pain and physical exertion required for taking on the more experienced swordsowls. However, he despised the endless days, where nothing could keep his mind from wandering back to his mother's blood pooling on the floor, the murderous look in his da's eyes, the blood clinging to Soren's face like a mask… during the day, his daymares never ceased and always, _always_, were punctuated by the flash of a moon-silver mask. When he awoke, he was always paralyzed with fear.

So Kludd did what he did best: he excelled. He gained more ground than most owls twice his age could manage in a month, much less a few days. And with his success brought even more whispers, following him and clinging to him like strands of spider webs. As if it weren't enough that the mysterious young owl had helped save the king's life, he was also more skilled than most of the rybs! In his rare downtime, Kludd sought out the Great Grey, Twilight, but hadn't found him yet. The hulking owl had been placed in advanced practice, a path which it seemed Kludd was bound to follow.

Now, the Barn Owl strained his ears to catch the words of the older owls' conversation. Between the relentless crashing of the surf and the strong breeze blowing over the cliff, he could only catch every other word.

"…talented, impossibly…" that was Struma.

"But has… the disciplin'?" _Oscaryb, _Kludd groaned inwardly.

"A Trial… against Pel-… King Bylyric shall be in attendance." Kludd wilfed, as he saw Stryker give a firm nod. _This is not good,_ Kludd thought, _Glaux, please don't let them mean me…_ His heart plummeted to his talons as all three owls turned to look at him in unison. Dread began to seep through him as Stryker nodded in his direction and, with a stroke of his wings, launched himself into the wind, speeding to the Great Tree.

"Class dismissed," Strix Struma called, her voice tight. Kludd spread his wings, readying to fly back to the safe, if somewhat dull, infirmary, hoping against all hope…

"Soldier Kludd, please remain behind."

Kludd swallowed hard, resisting the sudden urge to yarp. _I can't do this, I've got to leave, got to find Soren…_ his thoughts fluttered in time with the panicked thrashing of his heart. He hopped over to the Spotted Owls, his muscles screaming in protest, the slash stinging under its bandage.

"Soldier, you have been requested for a Trial by the king himself." Was that concern in Struma's voice?

"When- when shall it take place?" Kludd managed to choke out the words.

"In two night's time," Oscaryb replied, his usual bluster fleeing his voice. He and Strix Struma turned away, preparing to launch into the gale. Yet he paused, and swiveled his head to squint at Kludd. "Rest up, laddie. You'll need all the strength you can muster." With that, the rybs departed, leaving Kludd in the fading starlight.

He swallowed hard again, and gazed emptily at the greying eastern horizon. _This can't be happening, not this soon. _For a second, a wild thought grabbed him: if he left right now, he could slip past the guards, high-tail it back to Tyto, resume his search… he trembled. They would catch him, as they always caught turnfeathers, and he would be given the royal treatment for his treason: a journey to the land directly north across Hoolemere, then a plucking, followed by a de-winging, and finally they would throw him to the wolves to be eaten alive. Such was the fate of an enemy to Bylyric's throne.

_But to fight in a Trial! _He had heard about the Trials: usually, it was a fight between two owls over some falling out, usually involving theft or murder, or it functioned as the execution of an enemy warrior. The last one had taken place nearly a moon before Kludd's arrival, between the swords master and a young female owl. The details were vague, but Kludd perceived enough to know that the female owl had wanted to claim his title, since she believed she was a better swordsowl. As it turned out, she was, and was crowned undisputed victor of the last Trial.

It was undisputed because the Trial had only one result: one owl would die, and the other would become a murderer, and be forced to participate in future Trials, if they were amusing enough for the king.

Kludd gave a short, barking laugh. _Shall I die horribly or honorably? Or shall I live to become my father, willing to kill anyowl? _

The chill of dawn washed over him, and the sun rose ponderously, weighed down by its own troubles.


	9. Characters and Terms

**A/N:** This is where I'll be putting the names of all the charcaters and owlish words used in this particular story. Also considered putting down the lore I have used, if it's needed. Original characters are marked OC.

* * *

**Characters** (thus far)

**The Alba Family**- dwells in the traditional tree-palace called the Albayn Palace

A noble family descended from Tytian's line, in the olden days before King Hoole they would have ruled the entire Forest of Tyto as sovereigns. Tytian was one of the members of the Order of Glaux and became the first king of Tyto after slaying an evil mage that kept the woods in never-ending daylight.

Kludd Alba- the oldest brother and heir to the noble title and estate

Soren Alba- the younger brother

Marilla Alba-their mother

Noctus Alba- their father

Mrs. Plithiver- their blind nestmaid servant

**St. Aegolius' Home for Orphaned Owls**

Aegolian Superior (OC)- Short-Eared Owl- the head nun at St. Aegolius

Sister Isis (OC)- a young Northern Saw Whet Owl, just starting her sisterhood after a time of being an occupant of the home

Digger- Burrowing Owl- a relatively-new arrival to the Home

**The Great Tree**- now overrun by the forces of King Bylyric

King Bylyric- Snowy Owl- led the Ice Talons to victory against the Kielian League in the war for the Northern Kingdoms and then continued with his army to the Southern Kingdoms to conquer Ga'Hoole

Strix Struma- Spotted Owl- a ryb , specializes in flight skills

Oscar (OC)- Spotted Owl- old kraal, teacher of sword fighting

General Stryker- Barn Owl- one of the strong leaders and supporters of King Bylyric

Twilight- Great Grey- a free-flyer

**Owlish Terms**

-yoicks- crazy

-yeep- sudden loss of flight instincts caused by paralyzing fear

-yarp- an owl's method of disposing their waste through throwing up hard-packed pellets

-gibblywibbly- coward

-gallgrot- guts, bravery, grit

-churr- owl laughter

-racdrops- short for raccoon droppings, curse word

-frink- owl curse word

-sprink- the worst owl curse word

-turnfeather- owl traitor

-Glaux- the owl deity, the first owl—in books, sometimes refers to the Order of Glaux, a council of the first owls of each species

-hagsmire- owl hell

-Glaumora- owl heaven

-scroomshaw- owl soul

-scroom- owl ghost

-magen- magic

-nachtmagen- dark magic

-hagsfiends- alt. crowls- owl-crow hybrids, capable of magic- sometimes considered demons

-gadfeathers- owl gypsies, talented in singing, often wear trinkets, colorful feathers, and bright berries—sometimes stick with a particular Northern clan as their storyteller

-kraals- owl pirates/mercenaries, from the North


End file.
